Singin' In The Rain
by cuddyclothes
Summary: Wilson's latest hobby is driving House crazy. H/W est. pairing. House, Wilson, Cuddy. Silly fluff, rated PG


_Tappety tappety clump tap tap tap tap clump tappety tap clump_

House rolled over and looked at the bedside clock. 5 AM.

"_Wilson!"_

Why was it that Wilson couldn't hear him shouting across the loft, but House could hear that fucking noise as if it was in the same room?

_Clump clump CLUMP tappety tap_

With an aggravated sigh, House dragged himself out of bed and got his cane. He'd been up until 2 AM with Flapping Ear Girl and they still didn't have a diagnosis. How was he supposed to have a goddamned epiphany with this racket?

_Clump tappety tap clump_ "Damn it!" Pause. _Clump tappety tap_

House weaved sleepily to the front hall of the loft. Sure enough, Wilson had his dance board on the floor and was tap dancing, wearing only a green t-shirt, underpants, socks and custom-made black wingtip tap shoes. To make things worse, the damn shoes had "double" taps on them to make even more noise.

"Wilson! Stop doing your fucking Ginger Rogers routine!"

Wilson stopped, panting, his face shiny with sweat. "I like to think of myself as Fred Astaire." He did a little shuffle-ball-change and threw his arms out. "Ta-da!"

"You're forty pounds too heavy to be Fred Astaire." House leaned against the wall. "Jesus, Wilson, it's 5 AM. Can't you practice this shit during the day?"

"I'm at work during the day. Besides, this is great exercise." Wilson did a shuffle-off-to-Buffalo, pointing with his thumb.

"Yeah, it's definitely tightened your legs and butt," House said admiringly. "In fact…"

"Not now, House, I have another thirty minutes of practice."

House glared at him. "Besides cutting into our sex life, have you ever thought it might be rather…inconsiderate to practice something I can't do?"

Wilson grinned. "Don't be too sure." He tapped his way to House and gave him a quick peck on the mouth.

"Yeah, between only being able to use one leg and the excruciating pain, that would make for some fun times." House started back to their bedroom. "Oh, and did I say I hate you?"

"House, come on!" Wilson reached for his partner's arm and gently turned House around. "Haven't you ever heard of Peg Leg Bates? Or Crip Heard?"

House looked at him grumpily. "No. And I don't think I want to. _Crip Heard_, what sort of fucking name is that? You want me to be Crip House? I already am, asshole."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me." Wilson slid his body next to House's, making sure not to lean too hard. "Maybe I could skip the practice for one morning." House caught the aroma of Wilson's sweat, felt the raised temperature from his body that the dancing had caused.

"Thank God. Then I can get some sleep."

"Who said anything about sleep?" Wilson gazed into House's eyes and kissed him again, this time thrusting his tongue into his lover's mouth. House could feel Wilson's dick hardening, and his own started to throb in return.

"Okay. But take off the damn shoes first."

###################################################

House stopped in at Cuddy's office to request puncturing both of Flapping Ear Girl's eardrums while shooting her up with clonazepam. After the requisite arguing, Cuddy gave in. Then House moved to what he really came in for.

"Wilson's tap dancing," he grumbled.

"I know." Cuddy smiled, putting her chin in her hand. "I told him to try it."

"It's _your_ fault he's making that ungodly racket? Why didn't you tell him to take up yoga? That's quiet."

"He isn't flexible enough."

"How do you know that?" House glared at her.

"I showed him the downward dog and he ended up with his face mashed into the carpet. So I suggested tap dancing. He's really good, House. He did a little bit for me when I visited the oncology floor." She leaned back in her chair, looking up at him. "Helps keep the patients entertained."

"He wants me to…to dance with him."

"Why not?"

"Why not? _Look at me!_ Are you both doing this to torment me?"

"Haven't you ever heard of Peg Leg Bates, House?"

"Not until this morning. When I kill a patient because I'm too tired to make a rational decision, have them sue Wilson, not me."

"You never make a rational decision."

"That's why I'm with Wilson." House slammed out.

####################################################

Alone in his office that night, House made sure that all of his team had gone home. Then he logged into YouTube and did a search for Peg Leg Bates. All of the videos were black and white and grainy. Peg Leg Bates had one fully functioning leg. He was missing most of his other leg, which he'd fitted with a special prosthesis with a wooden tip with a tap on it. The guy really could dance, tapping on both his foot and the wooden leg, moving his arms in the air…

The guy didn't have a cane. Fuck him.

Then he did a search for Crip Heard. God, the names they gave people in the 1920s. Apparently this was the only footage of Crip Heard. He had no right arm or right leg. Now that was just weird. After watching the dancer hop around on one leg for about five minutes, House stopped the video. There had been a lot of interpretive dance videos featuring proud members of the crippled community doing modern dance. Yeah, _anybody_ could do interpretive dance, you could just wave your arms around looking constipated. Fuck that shit. House despised regular interpretive dance. He moved to shut off the laptop, but something made him pause.

He clicked on Peg Leg Bates again.

######################################################

"I'm not going to buy tap shoes. Or should I say, tap shoe."

"You're going to love it, House. You're a musician, you're got a great sense of rhythm, why not dance?" It was almost pathetic how eager Wilson was. "You can wear regular shoes, but not sneakers."

"Not sneakers? Forget it." House started to limp away. "Next you'll want me to wear a leotard."

"Sneakers don't slide across the floor, House."

"Okay." With a sense of dread, House went to the bedroom and got out his only pair of dress shoes, a pair of black oxfords that had seen better days. Grunting with pain, he sat down and put them on. Then he swallowed three Vicodin. The things he did for love.

Wilson was ready, the portable CD player set up, the wooden dance board on the floor. "Okay, we'll start with the beginner step. Just your left leg. Put your foot forward and tap with your toe." He clicked on the CD, and a slow version of "Singin' In The Rain" on piano came on.

"This is stupid."

"Put your foot forward and tap with your toe, House. Lean on me if you have to."

Determined to show that he could do it by himself, House put his foot forward and tapped with his toe. Then he did it again, and again.

_Tap tap tap tap tap_

It reminded him of playing the drums.

"Now slap your toe back and forth. I'll demonstrate." Wilson did a series of fast tap slaps, practically up on his toes. He was grinning with pride.

"This is _really_ stupid." House was getting scared. This was going to hurt.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Come on, you can do this. Slap forward, slap back, slap forward, slap back."

_Slap-tap slap-tap slap-tap_

Soon they were both slapping forward and back. House was surprised to find he enjoyed it. Except that his right leg just stood there.

"I can't do anything with my other leg."

"Easy. Punctuate every other beat with your cane. If anybody can do that, you can. It's all about percussion."

_Slap tap slap tap, slap tap, slap tap, __**thump**__, slap tap, slap tap slap tap, slap tap, __**thump**__—_

"Aha! You're smiling!" Wilson jumped in front of him, pointing.

"Am not! That was a rictus of pain!"

Wilson stepped away and folded his arms. "Okay, then let's stop." He had an annoying air of triumph. "I thought you'd fold."

"No, no, it's okay, I'll keep going. If only to prove you wrong."

"I love you, House. Lean on me, 'cause I'm going to teach you the heel tap. You're a natural, you know that? It took me over a week to get as far as you have in twenty minutes."

House put his cane on the doorknob, and hop-limped to Wilson, putting his right arm over Wilson's shoulder. Wilson nuzzled his neck. "Don't distract me," House growled.

"Okay, one, two, three, _four,_ slap forward, slap back, slap forward, slap back, heel bump—" Wilson demonstrated, thumping the back of his heel on the ground. House followed, leaning heavily on his partner.

House was filled with a ridiculous sense of accomplishment. He was one of the most famous doctors on earth, and here he was, klutzing around with Wilson, feeling like he had won the Nobel Peace Prize.

"I love you, Wilson," he said as he moved his foot back and forth. "Just don't expect me to do a barrel roll."

They both started singing.

"I'm singin' in the rain, just singin'in the rain

What a glorious feeling, I'm happy again—"

_Slap-tap, slap-tap, clump, slap-tap, slap-tap, clump_


End file.
